Serendipity
by tiedyedseashells
Summary: '"How does he make you feel?" He persisted. "Like myself." His reticence left my words hanging in the air, coating us in my bared vulnerability. "Like I can do anything. Like I can be anything I want to be." "And how do I make you feel?" He ventured precariously; broad, unevenly tanned shoulders bracing unintentionally for my answer. "Like there's a precipice, and I'm falling."'
1. Living

**serendipity (noun): finding something good without looking for it**

* * *

_You're an enigma._

All my life, everyone I've ever met has always told me I'm an enigma.

_You're an enigma, you're an enigma, you're an enigma._ What does that even _mean_? Do they call me an enigma because I'm a mystery? Or do they call me an enigma because they can't understand me?

I don't think I should suffer being dubbed such a foolish word for the faults of others in failing to properly understand human nature.

I believe it's a paradox; I'm a walking paradox. They call me an enigma because I am one, and I am an enigma because they call me one. Cause and effect, effect and cause.

As a matter of fact, I don't think I'm mysterious at all. I'm just not naïve enough to believe that everyone in the world is as happy as they appear to be, and I'm not interested in wasting my time spewing some fake-faced, good natured, exultant lies back into another person's face.

Rather, I'm interested in living.

Hear me out. Humans live about an average of eighty years; the first ten of them spent in a oblivion filled childhood where you don't know any better, and the last twenty spent wobbling pathetically around in their old age. That gives me a total of fifty years in between, and ten of them are spent on the teenage years where you can't do anything you want to do, and you don't want to do anything you can do. Do you see where I'm going here? The average human has forty years to live their lives. Forty years. That's fourteen thousand and six hundred days. Can you compute that? 14,600 days. Every day I waste leading a boring life brings me a day closer to my imminent and dreary death. Can you understand my immense need to live my life right now? Do you understand why I don't believe in wasting my time on simpletons who don't understand the immensity of their own inevitable deaths?

I have this inconceivable need to feel like I'm living my life. If I get the feeling I'm wasting my life away, I up and move, leave my whole life behind to go start anew, just so I can feel like I'm alive. I need to know I'm not just faking being happy; I need to feel it emanating from my bones.

That's why I dropped my increasingly lackluster boyfriend and job and life back in the city, and left it there, where it belongs. Just murmured, "I'm bored" to my boyfriend while we lay in bed the night before and left a note on the table in the morning saying I wasn't really living. Do you think that was cruel of me? Good. Maybe it'll make him come to life.

Don't get me wrong – it was no fault of his. He was a good guy; we met when we were drinking and smoking and felt alive, and for a while I thought maybe he was just like me. I thought he wanted a life that was always pulsing and moving and breathing. But sure enough, he fell into a dull routine, just as all the other guys did before. He was sweet and caring and reliable and all those other things women crave in a man, but he turned out to be so bland, so easy to understand. It's a shame, in a way. I do hope he forgives me eventually. Or even if he doesn't, it won't matter. I'm not in the disgusting habit of looking back, like everyone else is. Besides, I'm sure plenty of other girls would want him.

I'm not like other girls.

Anyway, that's how I ended up on Castanet Island. No second thought, no tearful goodbye or pang of longing. Just got on the nearest ship and bolted the hell out of that dreary city.

"What's your name, dear?" the captain of the ship, who I now know was Pascal, asked me as I got on board, zero baggage with me.

"Molly."

"That's a lovely name," he smiled serenely. "And what brings you to Castanet Island?"

I grinned. "I'm going to live."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hi there! So this is my go at writing a story that isn't a one shot, but rather a full-blown story. Don't worry, the other chapters won't be as philosophical as this one. If you enjoyed it, feel free to check out a few of my other stories and leave me some reviews!**


	2. Cigarettes

I stood by a quaint white picket fence; the chilly spring breeze whipping my chocolate brown locks up around my face. Small daisies were blooming on the small lush field that spread out before me. Cherry blossom buds dotted the braches of trees just springing back into life.

Spring. The season of life. I smirked at the aptness of the season. How cliché.

It'd been a week since I landed myself on Castanet Island. I'd negotiated a deal with that stout little thing of a mayor, Hamilton, where I would live on the farm, on the terms that I worked on it too.

Fair enough, I'd thought to myself. New life, new experiences. The thought that this life had a looming but inevitable expiration date didn't fail to niggle at the back of my mind.

The sun was making its quick descent into the vast glimmering ocean, making room for the moon to rise in all her glory. I pondered the relationship of the sun and moon; one had to die for the other to live. What a tragic love – an eternity spent apart. How ridiculous. I don't believe in that Hollywood-spun version of love. That's not love. That's pain. Self-inflicted torture.

The moon was making her painfully slow ascent; almost like she was trying to make the most of this one second of forbidden closeness with the sun. I inwardly scoffed. _You'll never be together. _The thought ran through my mind cruelly.

Leaning my weight on the picket fence, I silently lit a cigarette, and continued my scornful observation of the sun and moon's star-crossed romance.

I inhaled deeply, feeling that familiar burning in my lungs. A little ironic that I, who was insanely concerned about the tragic shortness of life, had managed to pick up the habit of smoking. But the way I see it, the last twenty years of your life are spent uselessly. So I figure either way I win: I get to indulge in my bad habit and I get to cut out those pathetic last twenty last years of my life. I smiled contentedly to myself as I rationed it out in my head once again.

"A little early to be smoking, isn't it?" A distant voice called out from behind me.

I didn't bother turning around. "Not at all," I retorted without skipping a beat, "I don't intend on denying myself the small pleasures of life based on society-assigned norms."

"You'll certainly regret that when you die at fifty," the cold voice countered.

I rolled my eyes behind closed eyelids. Slowly, reluctantly, I withdrew the cigarette from my lips, turning my body slowly to face the annoyingly holier-than-thou voice that wouldn't leave me to the self-inflicted quickening of my death.

Icy blue eyes glared coldly at me. White blonde hair. Gill.

I'd met him on several instances over my short week here. It's pretty funny. In some ways, I thought he was exactly like me. He wasn't convinced by the deluded smiles so many of the islanders wore. Just like me, he didn't care for people who wasted his time with their useless tales of false happiness. But he simultaneously repulsed me; he was the most blatantly boring man, person, I'd ever met. To be honest, I'd rather have wasted my time listening to someone spew rubbish about their 'happy' life than talk to Gill for a second. Every boring syllable he uttered made me want to dig my grave and dive headfirst into it, if just so that I wouldn't have to listen to him for a second longer.

I smiled snidely at him. "You ought to try one then," I remarked. I'd be doing a favor to the world, leading that dull pompous to his early death.

"No thanks," he replied, utterly appalled, "I value my life and lungs. And I should advise you to do the same."

I sucked on my cigarette to spite him, blowing long wisps of smoke out, while raising a cocky eyebrow at him.

He crossed his arms furiously. "A fragile twenty-one year old girl like you shouldn't be treating this so lightly! Furthermore, as a girl, you should listen to a man who…"

"Fuck off, Gill," a cool voice called out from behind the oh-so-mighty aforementioned.

Offended at the coarse language, Gill whipped his head to be met with deep violet eyes. A slightly annoyed Chase was leaning against a tree, sleeves of his mint green shirt rolled halfway to his elbows, well-built arms crossed over his chest. His strawberry blonde hair was a wild mess, courtesy of the relentless winds of that evening, save for his long fringe which was held down thanks to three bobby pins. A long white cigarette hung nonchalantly from his lips.

Gill's ice blue eyes widened in indignation, "as a chef at our only inn, I'd thank you not to poison my food with your disgustingly toxic habit."

"As a human being, I'd thank you to pull that evidently ten-foot long stick out of your ass," Chase retorted sarcastically. I smirked.

"I shan't subject myself to your vile language any longer," Gill huffed, ten-foot long stick unmistakably still up his ass. I watched him walk away in visibly livid defeat.

"Those little boy shorts of his are ridiculous," I commented, shooting a smile in Chase's direction.

He grinned smugly in reply. He didn't move from his spot under the tree.

"Aren't you going to come smoke with me?" he asked, drawing on his cigarette slowly.

I watched the smoke rise up to frame his delicately pretty face. Like death slowly caressing her victim. Raising an eyebrow, I returned, "why can't you come over here and smoke with me?"

He raised his eyebrows right back at me. "Because I'm stubborn."

"So am I."

We both stared at one another for a moment, aforementioned stubbornness evident.

"I guess we'll both just stay where we are then," I challenged.

To my surprise, he acceptingly left his spot by the tree and slowly made his way over, choosing to lean his back against the fence. I smirked at his victory in defeat; even though he'd left his spot, his same stance decided that he had won this battle.

"Since I gave in, my next cigarette is on you," he drawled triumphantly.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Pulling a cigarette out of my pack, I planted it in between his lips, one hand going up to light it with my own lighter, the other going up to shield the flame from the increasingly strong night winds.

His larger hands covered my small one; building on the poorly constructed shield I'd made for the flame. One of his hands cupped over mine; I could feel his pulse. My amber eyes met his strange violet ones.

_Now there's an enigma if I've ever seen one_.

I pulled my hands away upon the successful ignition of his, my, cigarette, and resumed my own slow death, carelessly tossing the ashes of my poison over the picket fence, where the wind swept them to their own demise in the melancholic ocean. I exhaled, admiring the tendrils of smoke that floated out of my mouth, up into the air.

"You look good when you smoke," Chase stated simply.

It was strange. Just when I thought I had him figured out, he completely changed tactic, taking me by surprise. _An enigma._

I recognised myself in Chase. He felt familiar, but he could simultaneously burn you to ashes in the same millisecond. _Unpredictable._ I stared at the tip of the cigarette that hung from his lips. One moment it was completely relaxed, white and serene; the next, it had turned red-hot, rearing to scorch whatever dared to touch it. _Like a cigarette._

I smiled lightly at his semi-compliment. "I like you," I said bluntly.

He looked taken aback, but smirked ever so slightly.

"You're interesting," I continued.

"Lucky me," he drawled sarcastically, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"That's not a compliment," I laughed airily, "it's a statement."

I saw his smile spread slightly across his face.

"I'm not interested in girls who fall all over me."

"Well then, you're in luck," I retorted swiftly, "I'm not easy to get."

A light laugh escaped his pink lips.

"You're strange."

"At least I had the courtesy to substitute the word interesting for strange," I scoffed, mock-hurt, at him, referring to my previous statement about him.

A larger laugh.

"You want to go drinking?" I asked as the whim struck me.

He seemed caught by surprise, but nodded in agreement. I tossed my newly lit cigarette behind me. His violet eyes widened.

"You just lit that."

I started off in the direction of the Brass Bar, not really caring whether Chase followed suit or not. I stretched my arms out behind me, turning my gaze to the moon who now sat alone in the night sky; lonely but lovely. I smiled at the resonance with how I sometimes saw myself.

"Life's too short to waste finishing half hearted cigarettes," I called out to him, "or for doing anything half hearted, really."

Chase appeared by my side. "I don't understand you," he confessed, "first you say you're hard to get, then you ask me to go drinking with you."

I threw my head back, inhaling the fresh smell of dewy spring blossoms mixed with the sickly saccharine one of smoke clinging to our clothes. Closing my eyes, I replied with a laugh.

"Like I said, _I'm not easy to get_."

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon.**

**Author's Note: I know Molly is completely out of character from the typical sweet, girlish persona she's usually portrayed to have, but that's what I'm aiming for here. As a matter of fact, I think most of the characters will be slightly out of character to some extent, but I will try to keep the vital components of their personalities in to the best of my ability. Also, I have nothing against Gill - please don't flame me for my portrayal of him! I'd love if you'd leave me some reviews if you enjoyed!**


	3. Loneliness

I've always felt a strange affinity for rocks.

Hear me out. Too many people take one look at me and associate me with foliage; they think I'm freshly bloomed flowers or lush unending meadows. They observe me for a little bit and think they know me. They think that I'm 'a breath of fresh air' or 'spring coming into full bloom' just because I don't like boring. Too many guys I've met before have thought of me as a concept, as someone who will bring them to life, as somebody who will complete them.

I'm not going to do that. I'm concerned with bringing myself to life; why the hell should I have to carry the burden of having to enliven another person's mundane life, just because they're too damn lazy to do it themselves?

Foliage is beautiful, sure, but it's fragile. There is only one certainty about foliage, and that is it will assuredly wither over time.

Rocks are admirably impervious. Kick them, step on them, try as you may to break them apart; they're unchanging, untouchable. But more importantly, they understand what it is to be human: to be solitary. Anyone who believes that I can complete him is deluded. Nobody can complete another person. People are born alone, and we die alone. There's no such thing as 'completion' of yourself in finding your 'other half'. We're made solitary, our own being, and it's foolish to believe in needing to be completed by someone else. We need to complete ourselves.

That's why I like Garmon Mine District. The place itself is made of rocks; the place itself is a rock. It's solitary from the rest of Castanet Island – the people who live there are all rocks. Most of them understand the conditions of being human: born alone, die alone. Dale, Mira, Ramsey; they've weathered enough pain in this life to know that to believe part of them exists in another person is to leave themselves vulnerable to pain and anguish. They've seen their 'other halves' die alone. They've seen themselves live alone. They know that to be human is to be alone.

I sat perched atop a particularly large boulder, quietly observing tranquil life passing through the Garmon Mine District. I watched as Dale and Bo passed by, Dale nodding at me in greeting. I offered him a quick smile, thinking about his wife. Died early and painfully, he'd told me. His eyes crinkled momentarily in response before they dropped back to their usual saddened position, Bo and him continuing on their way.

"How'd you get up there?"

I casted my gaze down to the bottom of the boulder, meeting feline amber eyes and electric blue hair secured by a realistic flame-patterned bandana. I didn't bother replying such a mundane question.

Luke wasn't anything if not persistent. "What're you doing all the way up there?" he persevered honorably.

"Just being poetically melancholic," I mused, only half sarcastic. I went back to my people watching.

"Man. That's pretty impressive. I've never been able to get up there myself," he muttered.

"Mm hmm," I granted in reply, continuing my coolly fixed gaze on the Garmon Mine District, watching as Owen made his way to the mines.

We were both silent for a while.

"You want to know something?" I asked, gaze never wavering.

A short silence reigned.

"I can't get down."

Even more silence. A minute must have passed before a poorly stifled laugh escaped Luke's mouth.

Laughter erupted between us. Luke was holding his side in a stitch by the time I finally spoke.

"Well, don't just stand there and laugh. Stand there and be ready to call Jin in case I break my skull when I jump off," I scolded; fear distinctly ebbing away from my heart, as the threat of having to have spent the rest of my life on that boulder quickly dissipated. I don't think it was so much having to have lived on the rock, but more so having to stay in one place for the rest of my life. The thought passed a chilling shudder through me.

"Hey, wait," Luke cut in, "I can catch you."

I scoffed audibly. "No thanks," I remarked snidely, "I don't need some knight in shining armor to save me."

Luke looked visibly taken aback, a little shocked that a person in my situation would refuse help. Before he could utter another syllable, I shifted my weight forward, casting a glance down to where I would land. Without a second thought, I threw myself off the edge of the boulder. My heart threatened to fly out of my mouth; I was weightless, ethereal for a moment. I closed my eyes in anticipation for the excruciating sensation of the ground resonating into my bones. It never came.

"The fuck did you do that for?" I scorned angrily at Luke, vaulting out of the admittedly muscular arms he'd caught me in.

He raised a curious eyebrow. "You'd think I'd get more thanks for having potentially saved your life."

"I told you I didn't want your help."

"Says the girl who couldn't jump off until a knight in shining armor came to her rescue."

"Mighty arrogant for a guy who couldn't even get up the boulder to begin with," I retaliated, with a definitive sense of finality. I started walking off in the direction of my farm.

"Hey, Molly, wait," Luke called out from behind me, "you're bleeding."

Surprised, my eyes darted to the deep gash on my forearm, a result of having scraped it against the boulder on my fall down.

"I'm fine," I replied nonchalantly.

"Come over to my house and I'll fix it up for you," Luke offered.

"Am I wearing a fucking princess gown? I don't want your help. I said I'm fine." How repulsive. Men who thought women _needed _them – what a ridiculously self-righteous notion. People should learn to rely on themselves and themselves alone. Relying on others means you need someone to complete you. Pathetic.

I trudged home; Luke watching on, bewildered and hurt.

I washed the wound and left it as it was, not giving it much thought. Laying back on my bed, I lit a cigarette and observed how the smoke seemed to disappear into the rays of sunlight that leaked themselves through every corner of my house. I thought back the pathetic story of my mother.

A meek housewife. No money of her own. Lived to please my dad. When we caught him cheating on her, she had nowhere to go, so she stayed with the good for nothing scumbag. Never once made a squeak when my dad decided it'd be a good idea to start bringing his newest woman of the week home. She was too afraid to be on her own, so she let him walk all over her instead.

Repugnant. When you let yourself lean on someone else for the slightest second, you leave yourself wide open to spiraling into the trap of needing someone to complete you.

A knock on my door snapped me out of my philosophizing.

Luke.

I stared at him transparently. Leaning tiredly on my doorframe, I sighed, "you don't give up, do you?"

In his gloved hands were bandages and antiseptic.

"Just let me clean and bandage it up and I'll go."

Facing defeat, I let the persistent blue-head into the house, dropping my cigarette butt in the bin before perching myself on the edge of my bed.

"I'll do it myself."

"Don't be stubborn." His sudden brash words caught me by surprise.

"I've already washed it, so you didn't need to come anyway."

He fell silent. In one swift motion, he'd dropped his medical apparatus on my floor and ripped off the Band-Aid that sat innocently on his nose.

A small but deep purple scar cratered the slope of his nose. His distinctly vivid amber eyes stared into mine.

"I got this when I was a kid. Scraped my nose on the ground and never got it properly cleaned. It got badly infected and didn't heal right."

I felt fear and overwhelming guilt course through me.

"So just let me clean it for you, alright?"

I nodded quietly.

Luke knelt in front of where I sat on my bed, gently dabbing the wound with alcohol, dressing it in the bandages he'd brought. My gaze remained transfixed on his scar, sitting isolated on his nose.

_Solitary._

Loneliness hidden behind a Band-Aid. Luke's friendly persona was a facade for the solitude of someone who knew what it meant to be human. My hand reached out to trace his miniature inverse rock of a scar. My fingers brushed over the loneliness that lay on his nose.

He visibly withdrew in surprise; but continued bandaging up my wound.

_We're all a little lonely._

"Thanks," was all I could come up with when Luke announced that he was done.

He flashed a bright smile in my direction, sticking his Band-Aid back over the physical manifestation of loneliness that sat on his nose.

"You can thank me with a meal," he grinned sneakily. An agenda. Of course.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not some girl who's magically going to complete you, you know."

"I know."

"I'm the girl who'll change your life and break your heart," I warned off.

"I know," he sang back, eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

He didn't miss a beat.

* * *

**Author's Note: I feel like I've almost completely changed Luke's character, but I couldn't figure out a way to transition his typical fiery one into one that would fit in with the story. I do hope that I somehow managed to convey a semblance of the optimism he normally has though! I also feel like I portrayed Molly as a tad too mean in this chapter, but that's supposed to be because she doesn't like having to rely on other people. Anyway, reviews are always appreciated!**


	4. Beauty

Light seeped through my fingers as I held my palm outstretched before me. Leaves delicately rustled in the kind spring wind; cherry blossoms lay idly on the branches of trees, on the cusp of fully blossoming. The mellow grass I laid on gently tickled my feet. Soft rays of sunlight slipped through the sparse spaces in between leaves, setting patches of field faintly aglow. I sighed contentedly, slowly fluttering my hand ever so slightly, allowing more light to leak through my fingers.

A familiar sarcastic voice broke me out of my reverie. "So do you ever do any work or do you just laze around town and smoke all day?"

I smiled at the chef who leaned on the fence, facing the field. "I'm not smoking today, am I?"

"Why's that?"

"It's beautiful."

"What is?"

"Life."

Chase eyeballed me confusedly; the sunlight lent itself to turning his usually violet eyes a sprightly amethyst colour. A small smile slowly broke across his face as I watched him, reaching for his pack of cigarettes, from where I laid across the field.

He lit his cigarette, and the crisp smoke he exhaled was almost invisible in the brilliant sunlight.

"You're weird," he paused to remark, before proceeding to plant his cigarette back in between his lips.

"How mean. I thought I told you to call me interesting."

A laugh escaped from the gap amid his lips, and he came to seat himself next to where I lounged on the grass, placing one hand behind to support him. He pulled one knee up to his chest, resting his arm on it so he could dangle his cigarette lazily from his svelte fingers. The sunlight seemed to filter itself through the tiny gaps that the individual strands of his hair created, turning his strawberry blonde hair an even lighter colour.

"Komorebi," I remarked softly.

He shot me a look of confusion, but made no move to say anything. Chase was the kind of person who didn't waste his words. He languidly brought his quickly diminishing cigarette back up to his lips, taking his time to let its smoke gratify his lungs.

"Komorebi. It's Japanese for 'when sunlight filters through leaves of trees'. There's no one word to describe it in English."

"Interesting," he drawled, raising an eyebrow up to signify part interest and part disinterest.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"You just called me interesting, didn't you?"

He rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged on the edges of his mouth voiced that his action didn't really reflect the amusement he felt.

I turned my gaze back to the cherry blossom trees, admiring how the stray petals that had reached their blossoming stage before the others wafted in the wind. I sighed again, smiling peacefully to myself.

Chase turned to look at me. "You've been smiling the whole time I've been here. Have you gone crazy or are you just really happy to see me?" He smirked at his own joke, fixing his gaze firmly on me.

"Aren't those two the same?"

He couldn't help the smile that threatened to tug at his lips once again, but he nudged me gently instead, being careful not to burn me with the now short cigarette that he held between his fingers.

"I used to cry at least once a day when I was younger."

His eyebrows rose again. "What were you sad about?"

"I wasn't sad. It's just that the world's so beautiful, and life's so short." I turned my head to face him, expecting a roll of his eyes again, but instead I was met with furrowed eyebrows that seemed deep in thought. Moments passed in silence, him seemingly reflecting and me watching intently.

"So why don't you cry anymore?"

I smiled, reaching for the almost finished cigarette that rested between his lips, promptly bringing them to my own before he could react.

"Figured I should enjoy it, rather than cry about it. No point wasting an already short life, right?" I slowly inhaled on his cigarette before plopping it back where I'd gotten it from. His hands instinctively went back to hold it.

He grinned. "Didn't peg you as the sappy kind."

I brought my hand up to my chest, feigning offense at his words. "I'll have you know that I'm actually very sappy," I joked, smiling to indicate the untruth in my words.

He stayed quiet, waiting for me to continue.

"The gods envy us."

"What?"

"Any moment could be our last. Everything we do is more beautiful because we're doomed."

"How morbid."

"Only if you let it be."

He finally threw his cigarette onto the field floor and crushed it underneath his shoe. I watched it crumble and disintegrate, smiling a little at how it seemed to magnify my point on how everything is bound to soften and rot.

I sat up to mimic Chase's position, stretching my arms out behind me to ease my muscles that ached from a morning of farming. He observed me quietly. Silence fell like a blanket over us. Minutes passed. Neither of us made a move to lift it.

He crossed his legs and turned his gaze up to the sky, which was quickly turning a vivid shade of orange.

"Sun's setting," he finally remarked, getting two cigarettes out of his packet and handing one to me.

"Don't like the sunset," I replied, nodding to simultaneously thank him for and accept his cigarette. I placed it between my lips as his one hand went to form a protective shield against the wind while the other held his lighter, which set the tip of my cigarette ablaze. He proceeded to mimic the action for himself, exhaling a lungful of smoke that was no longer almost invisible in the quickly darkening evening air.

"Don't all girls like the sunset? They think it's romantic or some crap like that, right?"

I laughed as I exhaled smoke through my mouth. "I told you, I'm not like most girls."

"That's what all girls say."

We sat side-by-side, smoking, watching the sun make its speedy descent. The sky was a concoction of deep orange and indigo.

"Morning's my favourite time of day. It's when everything's starting afresh. I hate it when the sun goes down. Marks the end of another day in the limited days we've got."

Chase stared at me intently, his eyes squinting slightly, like how one would when trying to find the next piece of an intricate puzzle.

"You're a mystery, aren't you?"

My eyes bulged out of my head as I erupted into a fit of laughter. "I just told you a huge chunk about me, and I'm still the mystery?" I shook my head, bringing my laughter to a quiet still. "If anything, you're the mystery."

The sky was now a shade of navy blue; the moon high in it. I crossed one leg over the other, leaning my body weight on my arms which rested behind me, as I looked up into the evening sky. Stars littered it haphazardly, slowly gleaming as if they all shared a little secret. A small smile crossed my face.

"But I guess the night's got it's own beauty too." I threw my cigarette on the ground as I stood up slowly, letting my bones crack back into place after having been relaxed for too long. I stretched felinely, letting out a sigh to relieve the tension in my lower back.

"I'm heading home."

Chase followed suit, getting up easily, without the languid motions I'd had. He ran his lithe fingers through his hair, stifling a yawn as he did so. He simply nodded, but made no move to start walking until I did.

He didn't voice any intentions to do so, but he walked me home, still smoking on his cigarette that he hadn't yet finished. We walked in silence, him one hand in his pocket, the other moving with his cigarette.

He suddenly broke the silence. "I like oranges."

I turned to face him, confusion expressing itself on my face. "What's that?"

"Not a mystery anymore, am I?"

I smiled while rolling my eyes at him. We fell back into silence.

"This is me," I finally said, motioning to my house, which stood a few feet ahead of us. He nodded mutely, throwing his cigarette butt onto the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his shoe, as he'd done before. The night air was flowing so quickly I could almost hear it in my ears. Chase trudged up beside me to the porch of my house, hands in his pockets. I spoke.

"Night."

He nodded again in response. I went in, silently closing the door behind me. I could hear his footsteps slowly growing fainter and fainter.

The world's beautiful.

_ Everything we do is more beautiful because we're doomed._

The people in the world are even more beautiful.

Chase's smiling face, cigarette dangling from his lips, flashed through my mind.

I threw the door back open.

"Chase!"

He turned around lazily, hands still in his pockets, as an eyebrow raised itself.

I threw an orange I'd retrieved from my bag to him. He caught it effortlessly, one hand still in his pocket as the other grasped the fruit.

"Thanks," I said, nodding, for how he'd both listened to me all day and walked me home.

He threw me that smile in return, and I watched him throw the orange up in the air and catch it repeatedly, as he turned around and made his way back home.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'Norwegian Wood' by Haruki Murakami, "the gods envy us..." quote which is by Homer (_The Iliad)_ or Harvest Moon.**

**Author's Note: Sorry this took me so long to upload! I actually started on a chapter a while back, but then I decided that the chapter needed something before it to show how Chase and Molly are already friends. This chapter is supposed to have taken place a while after the last chapter concerning Chase, the one where they went drinking. So please assume that for every chapter some time has passed in between! This chapter was meant to be Molly opening up to him a bit, while also talking about her view on life. Their relationship will really start developing in the next chapter (well, the one after next because it alternates between Chase and Luke for chapters). I hope you enjoyed it! My writer's block is gone so I'll be back with more chapters soon. Please review and follow if you liked it!**


	5. Honest

I like people who are honest with their feelings. Not just honest with other people, but with themselves as well.

It's easy to believe a lie when you're the one doing the lying.

Nine times out of ten, love isn't love. Contradictory? Hear me out. All our lives, we're force fed this misconception that we're not complete until we're in love with another human being. It makes us shameful to have to answer negatively when people ask the dreaded question: "Are you in a relationship?" It's almost like we're answering, "No, I'm still only half a human being. Haven't found that 'special someone' who's going to make me whole. Go on, shame me. There must be something wrong with me – I'm not a full human being because I'm not in a relationship." Or even worse, "I was whole, but now I'm not. Got my 'heart broken'."

'Heart broken'. The phrase makes me sick. Your heart is yours. Not anybody else's to own or keep. It is not anyone's job to try and keep it safe, but your own. The heart is such a vital organ; only a fool would happily give it away so easily.

For fear of being alone, we force ourselves to believe that some random person who comes into our lives is going to be the 'ideal' person who is going to fill that supposed 'void' in our lives. We let ourselves build this person up in our heads, making them out to be the perfect one we've been waiting for all along.

Listen up. You can believe that you've fallen in love with anyone you want if you lie to yourself. Even the most imprudent of simpletons can do that; in fact, most of them do. You've got to be dead honest with yourself if you want to experience true love – don't kid yourself and try to settle for someone just because you're sick of being alone.

I'm not going to kid myself.

I like people who are honest, because I can be sure that they're not kidding themselves. They know what they want and they're not going to settle for anything less – and that includes me.

"You owe me a meal." A voice I hadn't heard in a while invaded my philosophizing. My ears involuntarily perked up in response, but I made no action to turn towards the source of the voice.

"I'm busy right now."

"Don't seem too busy to me."

I finally let out a sigh, and conceded to lend my attention to the blue-head who stood a few feet off from me.

"You were kinda just staring into nothing, actually," Luke laughed, his felinely amber eyes crinkling into small slits. I remained silent, observing the way even his nose scrunched up when he laughed, in spite of the bandage that remained tensely positioned on it. I didn't know why, but his laugh made me want to laugh too. Not because I found anything particularly funny, or even because it was contagious; but because it was genuine, and a genuine anything was hard to come by nowadays.

A smile tugged up on my lips in spite of myself. Luke smiled gently, tilting his head to the side as he shot that same smile at me.

"You finally smiled. Don't think I've ever seen you smile all the times you've talked to me."

"That's not a whole lot of times," I retorted casually. I felt the urge to smoke but I resisted – I didn't get the feeling that Luke was one for smoking.

"Seems like you avoid me on purpose."

"You've caught on, have you?"

Hurt. Hurt flashed on his face, and for a split second I felt guilty for inflicting such an emotion on such an innocent person. His face quickly reverted back to its usual easygoing expression, but the tainted cloud that had swallowed up his face for that millisecond wouldn't leave my mind.

I sighed tiredly. "Come on."

He stayed in his spot, dumbfounded. I whipped my head around abruptly when I realised he wasn't following me, but rather was standing stock still like a redundant tree. Geez, he made me desperately want to smoke.

"I owe you a meal, right?" I snapped, trying to keep a semblance of patience in my voice. I walked ahead of Luke, heading for my house. After letting him in, I walked to the kitchen to start making dinner for two.

"What do you want? I'll make whatever, since I owe you."

Luke eyeballed me curiously, trying to determine what had caused my sudden surge in mood. I sighed irritatedly, giving him incentive to decide faster.

"You don't actually have to cook for me. I was just kidding."

"I don't like indecisive people. Spinach risotto okay?"

Ignoring his plea that had come far too late, I started up the stove, going to the fridge to get out the ingredients I'd grown myself. I haphazardly threw the spinach and rice into the pot, added a few slices of onion and then, using my wooden spatula, started the tedious task of stirring everything up.

Silence reigned.

"How's your arm?"

"Fine."

He nodded understandingly, and then proceeded to start fidgeting with his dirty gloves and bandana. I didn't know what it was about Luke that could simultaneously irritate me but guilt trip me at the same time.

"I have been avoiding you."

"Yeah, I got that the first time."

I looked up from my intent stirring. He was staring blankly at the floor. Something unconsciously twinged in my heart.

"You're a nice guy, Luke."

I kept my eyes concentrated on the simmering pot of green before me. I felt a need to explain myself to him, not to relieve my conscience, but out of some ridiculous, unexplainable, inconceivable notion that I had to protect him. From me.

"I'm not going to stay on Castanet forever."

He didn't jerk his head back up like I thought he would – instead, he kept his blank gaze to the floor, almost like he was expecting that.

"I know."

"You seem like the type to get attached easily."

He nodded mutely.

"You see where I'm going with this, right?"

"You don't like it here?"

"Wrong. I like it perfectly fine, for now."

"Why the need to move, then?"

"I get bored easily."

A small smile began to fight the uncharacteristic frown that was overshadowing his face.

"What I'm saying is," I continued, turning the stove off before going to plate up the risotto, "I'm going to leave one day. And it's going to be sudden and unexpected. And if you get close to me, painful."

His unnerving gaze followed me as I travelled from the kitchen to the dining table, setting our plates down between us.

"And like I said, you're a nice guy." I couldn't bring myself to blurt out the obvious overhanging reason that I didn't want Luke getting close to me.

_I'll hurt you, and for some strange reason that has never plagued me before, I desperately don't want to hurt you. _

He kept staring at me, as I picked up my fork and proceeded to dig in. I finally looked up at him half way through a mouthful of risotto.

"Quit staring at me."

"Sorry."

We ate in silence.

"You're really good at cooking."

"Even a lost child's got to know how to cook."

He put his fork down and leaned back in his chair, observing me soundlessly.

"I thought I told you to quit staring."

He finally sighed and lowered his eyes, aiming his gaze at his scuffed up boots.

"I need to stop falling in love with my idea of people."

"If you're trying to tell me that you're in love with me, I'm going to whack you across the head right now."

He laughed that genuine laugh again, and we fell back into a silence, interspersed with only the sound of cutlery scratching noisily against plates.

"No, you don't have to hit me. Not yet, anyway."

I picked up our empty plates, going to wash them.

"I'm going to tell it to you straight now." I looked him right in the eye. His vividly amber eyes reeked of vulnerability – so much so that I almost couldn't bring myself to say it. Such disclosed vulnerability made me uneasy.

"Don't fall in love with me."

It wasn't an egotistical thing. I honestly wasn't really that attractive or thin or all that other crap other girls strived to be. But more importantly, I didn't care. I wasn't intent on wasting my tragically short life trying to be what someone else wanted me to be. That applied to appearances and otherwise.

But Luke was innocent, and he left himself so easily exposed. He was like a helpless puppy you couldn't help but feel drawn to. I knew I'd broken hearts before, but for some reason, I didn't want to break his.

We lapsed into an uneasy silence. He fidgeted clumsily with his fingers. I kept my eyes on the sink.

Rinse, soap, scrub, rinse. Repeat.

I finally broke the long silence. "It's easy to think you love someone when you don't know them."

He perked up, turning his head to me. He took his turn to speak.

"I guess, in my head, I've built you up to be this perfect person."

"You're awfully honest, aren't you?" I replied, only half listening. He leaned his arm on the dining table, resting his cheek on his calloused, gloved hand. He seemed deeply immersed in his thoughts. I put the dried plates away and went to open a window, so I could finally have that cigarette the presence of the blue-head had denied me all day. We fell back into silence.

"You're kind of all kinds of perfect though."

Luke's voice broke me out of my philosophizing for the second time that day. I rolled my eyes, slowly turning my attention to him. "That's all in your head."

He smiled a little. "That's what I like about you. You're pretty rude but you're actually really kind on the inside, aren't you?"

This guy unnerved me to no end. "Hey, I cooked dinner for you because you forced me to."

"Thanks, by the way."

I went back to my cigarette, letting the ashes fall dead onto the grass that sat outside the window.

"And you didn't smoke all day because of me."

"It wasn't because of you."

"The few times we've talked, you've always put your cigarettes out before I came up to you."

I sucked hard on my cigarette. My nerves were twitching. "What're you trying to get at?"

"Even if you hate me," he started, staring intensely at his fingers which were nervously picking at one another, "I still really like you." A smile crossed his face. It was the kind of smile that said he wasn't as unbroken as I'd thought - it was the kind of smile only someone who'd gone through real pain would know how to use.

I exhaled smoke audibly, making sure to blow it out the window, so it wouldn't get trapped in the house. My eyebrows furrowed in distress and exasperation. "I don't hate you. Can't hate someone you hardly know. Just like you can't love someone you hardly know either."

A giddy smile replaced his afflicted one.

"What're you so happy about?"

He shook his head innocently, still donning that inerasable grin. "It's nice talking to you." His patience surprised me. If anything, I was crueler to him than most other people I'd ever met. I sighed for what must have been the fourth time that night.

"I'm telling you now," I repeated, "don't fall in love with me."

He stood up, ready to show himself out. "Why not?"

"Because I'll break your heart."

"Maybe I'll break yours." He let out a small laugh that expressed both the nervousness and humour in his statement. An unsure smile followed.

I whipped my entire body around to face him. My eyes narrowed themselves instinctively.

"Nobody breaks my heart."

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'Skins'. **

**Author's Note: This chapter turned out way longer than I intended it to! Anyway, I hope Molly's not being portrayed as too mean towards Luke (since she's _comparatively_ a complete sweetheart with Chase). It's just that Luke is someone who's trying to barge his way into her life whereas Chase made an easy transition because they're both so alike. Molly has feelings (not necessarily romantic yet) towards them, but they are completely different for each of them. That's what I wanted to convey with these two chapters. Also, to clear things up, Molly doesn't want to get close to Luke because she doesn't want to hurt him, but she's okay with Chase because he's pretty hardened, like she is.**

** I want to thank everyone for all the reviews/likes/follows so far! I hope you continue to stick with me and that you enjoyed this chapter! Expect the next chapter in a day or two, since it's already been written.**


	6. Marked

I sauntered deliberately into the Brass Bar; trusty cigarette nestled in its signature position between the joints of my index and middle fingers. In a darkened corner, I spotted Kathy, who was flirting for all she was worth with an extremely smashed Owen. She threw a wink in my direction, making a subtle motion towards the drunken mess in front of her, indicating her intentions for the night. I nodded knowingly, smiling as a symbol of my approval. I guessed I wouldn't be drinking with her tonight.

"Hey, Molly! How's it going?" A chirpy voice sang into my ear. I curved my head around to be met with light auburn pigtails and a ridiculously balloon-shaped cotton candy dress. Before I could begin to say anything, Maya started her usual hopeless ramble. "I had a great day! I went to meet Calvin at the mine today! He said he was going to be busy in future so he won't be able to hang out as much anymore, but that's fine. I guess I knew what I was getting into when I decided to ask an adventurer out! But still…"

How pathetic. We both knew Calvin was blatantly cheating on her with Phoebe. I didn't bother replying her empty conversation; I didn't bother myself with people who were out to waste my time with fake-faced chatter. Every moment I sacrificed on them was a moment I wasted not really living. I did, however, offer her a knowing consolatory smile; the image of Calvin and Phoebe probably fucking in the mine as we spoke conjuring itself in my mind.

I continued my leisurely stroll towards my destination. I had an agenda for tonight.

Everybody wants to change the world. To leave his or her mark on the world. I'm no exception. But people try to achieve this in different ways. Julius wants to create the most beautiful jewelry the world has ever seen. Jin wants to save some lives. Anissa wants to be the best daughter she can be for Craig and Ruth, and the best older sister she can be to Taylor. That's how they're going to leave their marks.

I leave my mark by way of people.

People are this world's biggest commodity. Take them away and it wouldn't matter if the earth continued to exist – no one would know, after all. That's why the best and brightest way to leave your mark on this earth is to make an impact on someone. The deeper the better, I figure. Any form of interaction with someone is a mark made on them.

I'm selective about who I want to make my mark on.

Leaning myself against the doorframe of the entrance to the Brass Bar kitchen, I caught sight of my objective for the night. I slowly exhaled a lungful of translucent silvery smoke.

"You just going to stand there and admire my dashing good looks all night long?" Mysterious violet eyes darted to meet my widened amber ones.

Chase smirked at his prowess in sensing my presence.

I smiled faintly. "What good looks?" I retaliated, taking a long inhalation of the white stick that lay in between my fingers.

"I could smell you from a mile away. You leave a trail of smoke wherever you go," Chase explained, deciding to selectively ignore my poor comeback.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" I semi-joked, playing the role of an overly aggressive man trying to get invited into a woman's house at the end of a night.

He shook his head. "No smoke near the food," he said, beckoning his head towards the pot of tomato soup boiling on the stove in front of him.

I strolled into the kitchen anyway, purposefully blowing more smoke out next to Chase's face. He rolled his eyes at the ignorance of his order, but proceeded to withdraw the cigarette from my lips, promptly placing it between his own and deeply inhaling a lungful of smoke. His whole demeanor visibly relaxed.

I dipped a finger into the steaming pot of soup, taking a quick taste at the price of getting slightly burned in the process.

Chase's eyes widened. "Hey, that's for a customer. Quit polluting it with your filthy hands."

"It's really good," I smiled genuinely, indignantly glossing over his filthy hands comment. "You're cooking for me sometime."

"You've got no shame, huh?"

"I prefer to think of it as I'm not afraid."

Too many people live their lives in fear. Some are afraid to die, some are afraid to live, and some both. It's not our fault – from young, we're taught to be cautious. We've been instilled with the belief that we have to listen to orders and live life slowly and carefully. Our parents never told us how smoking makes you feel alive. No, they only told us that it was bad for us and that we shouldn't do it. From young, we are taught how to love but not how to stop, and that makes rejection all the more painful when we finally come across it. We try to harden ourselves, and we refuse to act on any feelings we dare have – out of fear that we won't be loved back.

We are humans, and we are scared little beings.

I took a step forward so that Chase and I were only centimeters apart. His intense violet eyes widened as I lifted my hand to retract my cigarette from its nestling place between his soft pink lips, my fingers slightly brushing them in the process. He made no move to increase the distance between us.

"You're so strange," he stated, a soft but audible quiver of fear in his voice.

Fear.

Fear is the enemy of life. I believe that if you want to do something, you should just fucking do it. Forget anyone who tells you it's bad for you or it's not right – they're the ones who live their lives paralyzed by fear. Too many people lead unhappy lives because they're afraid to do something about it. Far too many possible romances of a lifetime are passed on because people were too afraid of rejection. I've seen it all before: when two people love each other but are too afraid to say it. They end up unhappily married twenty years later, only to see each other one day and confess that they'd loved one other all along. It's too late by then, and so they live the rest of their lives mourning what could have been. How ridiculous.

"Like I said," I whispered to Chase, "I'm just not afraid."

I felt my heart threaten to leap out of my chest. We were so close that I could feel his heartbeat mimic the galloping rhythm of mine.

It's a lie when I said I'm not afraid. Of course I am – everyone is. It's a human condition to be afraid. I realized long ago that it was ludicrous to tell myself not to be afraid. It's impossible to not be afraid.

It is possible to beat the fear. What I realized was that if you're scared to death of doing something, all the more you should do it. I realized that I shouldn't be telling myself not to be afraid. What's the use? I could tell myself that all day, but I'd still end up being afraid in the end. What I should be telling myself is to be afraid, but to do it anyway.

Live anyway.

I lifted my head to stare into the violet ones that faced me.

Live anyway.

My lips fell onto his with a determined but gentle voracity. I could feel his heart skip a beat, before he proceeded to feverishly kiss me back, enveloping my waist in one arm while frantically running a hand through my hair. My hands wrapped around his neck while dangling my cigarette dangerously by my last two fingers. His lips were like heat against mine, pressing against mine so intensely that I had to fight back with force in order not to be pushed back. His arms wrapped around my waist, hoisting me up onto the kitchen counter, where we continued to kiss with a hungry avidness. His hands went to gently but firmly hold onto my arms.

When we finally broke apart, we were both panting, gasping for air. Chase stared into my eyes – his violet ones were flecked with confusion and satisfaction.

Neither of us spoke.

_I leave my mark by way of people._

"What was that for?" He finally managed to ask, his breathing still short and tired.

"And here I thought," I wheezed, having to pause to take a breath, losing any semblance of pride I still had, "that you were clever."

He smiled despite himself. "Smart mouth."

It was my turn to smile despite my own labored breathing. "Because," I finally said after a long pause, "I like you, idiot."

He didn't reply, but he let his fingers trace themselves gently over mine. It was a small, almost insignificant, gesture, but somehow it rang of how my feelings were reciprocated.

I brought the hand that still held my cigarette back up to my lips. The taste of smoke fused with the taste of Chase's lips to form a syrupy saccharine cocktail.

The pot of soup bubbled over, covering the stove and counter with the orange liquid contained in the pot. Chase looked over at the mess and sighed.

"I'm going to have to start all over again," he sighed, a look of resignation on his face. He made no move to clean up the mess, but kept his fingers softly tracing mine; he brought his other hand to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind my ear. His svelte, rough fingers brushed against my cheek. I plucked my cigarette out from between my lips and placed it in between his, lending him my hands to hold the cigarette, allowing him to take a deep drag while staying in this same position.

I finally hopped off the kitchen counter, resuming the dangling of my cigarette from its signature position between my fingers. Smoke wafted from its burning tip.

I made my mark for tonight.

"See you," I nodded to Chase, who seemed completely bewildered by my sudden leaving.

I'm selective about who I want to make my mark on. But I sure as hell want to make my mark on Chase.

I left a trail of smoke in my wake.

* * *

**Author's Note: I actually wrote this chapter before the 'Beauty', the previous chapter concerning Chase. I'm only publishing this now because I felt the other chapter was necessary to add depth to their relationship (friendship?) before anything could happen! Hint: knowing Molly, just because they kissed doesn't mean things are going to officially take off from there. I've been excited to upload this chapter for a while now, although I feel like the dialogue between Chase and Molly is slightly short at the beginning. I didn't want to prolong it too much though, just like how I didn't want to prolong the 'getting to know one another' process too much as well. That'll still happen though! (Am I even making sense? Haha, I've got some plans so don't worry.) Also, I'll elaborate on how Molly feels about Chase in his next chapter!**

** Hope you enjoyed, please review/follow/like if you please!**


	7. Waters

"Luke."

The bandana clad blue-head paused his lumber chopping to turn his attention to me. The relentless afternoon sun was obviously taking its toll on him; large beads of sweat raced down his forehead; areas of his skin were starting to turn light pink, a sign of how the sun took no prisoners when choosing who to scorch. White blisters were beginning their formation on his hands, in spite of the raggedy gloves he donned.

Fiercely amber eyes contrasted with the affable vibe they exuded. He offered me a wide, toothy smile that ignited his entire face as greeting.

I nodded unsurely in response. "Hi."

"Molly. First time you're the one talking to me."

"Yeah."

"What's up?"

Silence ensued as I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, arms instinctively folded across my chest, a barrier between me and the blue-headed boy who never failed to make me feel uneasy.

"What a useless question."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but not offense. I'd realized long ago that very little would offend Luke. His gaze remained stuck on me, making my shoulders tense up defensively. I spoke.

"People always seem to ask empty questions like, "How're you?" or "What's up?" Why bother asking when you're just waiting for a standard reply?"

Another smile broke across Luke's face, his piercingly amber eyes crinkling at the sides in amusement. He set down his worn axe, sitting himself down on a nearby tree stump as he rested his chin in a soiled, gloved hand.

"Alright then. So what should I ask you?"

"Don't patronize me," I mumbled deprecatingly, leaning my weight on a tree trunk that stood behind me.

Luke didn't miss a beat. "I'm not."

His fingers fidgeted nervously; his chapped lips pursed together, as he chewed uncertainly on his lower lip. I nervously broke my gaze away from our eye lock, feeling his own one remaining imprinted on me.

"You're lonely," I finally stated, as I turned my eyes back onto him, observing him closely for a reaction.

"Isn't everyone?"

He smirked tiredly, letting his dirty hands run through his dry, straggly hair. A certain emptiness seemed to emit from him.

_Empty._

"There's a place in the heart that'll never be filled." I started slowly; steadily. "And even in the best moments of our lives, we'll know it. More than ever."

He smiled a sad smile. The kind of sad that tugged on your heart, because someone as genuine as him didn't deserve to be so sad.

"So what can we do?"

I shrugged. "Wait."

"Wait?"

"Wait. We'll wait in that space."

"For what?"

"For something that doesn't exist."

Luke suddenly beamed affectionately at me, making me draw back at his unexpected reaction to me just baring a part of myself, a part of everyone, to him.

"What're you smiling at?" I attacked nastily, a snarl about to leave my lips.

"I think you have the most beautiful mind."

I withdrew visibly, my back pressing into the trunk of the tree on which I'd been leaning on.

"I already told you," I said icily, "don't fall in love with me."

"It might be too late for that," he admitted honestly, the previous steadiness in his voice faltering. His eyes focused on his ungloved fingers, which were twisted amongst one another.

I scoffed, ignoring the sinking feeling in my heart. "You don't even know me."

Silence, not unfamiliar to us, lapsed; him staring at his fingers; I, staring at the ground.

His vulnerable voice broke the quiet. "I want to, though."

"I'm not going to make you any less lonely."

"I know."

I sighed shakily, trying to tame my galloping heart. I looked at him once again.

He was the kind of sad that had no cure. It was a sadness that came from understanding the conditions of being human too deeply – it came from knowing that a part of him was always going to be empty.

"I'm not going to save you."

"I know that too."

"So why?"

"Why?"

"Why do you keep trying to get me to? You know I'm not going to do it. I can't." I paused. "No one can."

It was like a fire sparked inside of him – his fiercely feline eyes suddenly burned brilliant amber. If you squinted, you could almost see gorgeous, scalding flames dancing in them.

"I don't want you to save me." The flames grew higher and higher.

"I want you to stand by me and watch as I save myself."

His eyes were ablaze with a passion I'd never seen before; a passion that, up until now, I'd never believed could exist in someone who understood human nature so well.

I knew that I couldn't save Luke.

But maybe he could.

I smiled – a real one – and nodded, finally. I didn't know if it was possible, to try and fill that gap everyone had inside of them. But if anyone had a fighting chance, it was the blazing blue-head who stood in front of me.

"Okay."

He cocked his head, a confused but delighted smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"Okay? That's it?"

"Yeah. Okay."

We both stood there for a moment, smiling dumbly at one another. The air was no longer heavy; it was light with an unspoken understanding between us. A soft breeze was making the trees sway, while we stood still under them, encased in our own little bubble of knowing.

"So, what are we?" He ventured slowly, testing the waters uncertainly. "Are we friends?" He treaded the water lightly, feet like fairies.

"On one condition." He stopped abruptly, carefully; foot paused in mid-air for fear of falling in.

"Don't fall in love with you?" He slowly brought his foot down, letting the bottom of his worn boot graze the still surface of the waters.

He smirked upon his success of reading my mind. I nodded.

"Afraid I can't promise that." He daringly stuck his whole leg in, letting the icy water seep through the thick material of his jeans; letting ripples erupt around his immersed leg.

"Then we can't be friends." I stood by the edge of the waters; arms crossed rigidly.

"But we are friends, aren't we?" He let his other leg fall into the water too; one of his hands going to let his fingers dance around in it. The ripples he created were rapidly turning into waves.

"I don't know if I'd call it that yet." I hesitantly let my toes dip into the waters, slowly unfolding my arms from their defensive position.

I watched as he let his body fall into the waters; as the waters engulfed him, sweeping his body away with the raging current. He let the waves take him away.

"But it's a start."

I dived in too, head first.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'no help for that' by Charles Bukowski or 'Delirium' by Lauren Oliver.**

**Author's Note: Sorry I've been away for so long! Hope you enjoyed Luke's latest installation. I hope it's not coming across as Molly's playing both Chase and Luke, because she isn't – she's just allowing Luke into her life (sort of). Thanks so much for staying with me, and for all the reviews/likes/follows so far! As always, they're all greatly appreciated!**


	8. Fall

I don't believe in love.

After all, what is it, even? (What a cliché.) Why is it so universal? Why is it so easy for billions of people to carelessly claim that they've 'been in love', and yet still end up so unhappy? How can those who claim to be in love still live such lackluster lives?

Shouldn't love be that all-consuming emotion that makes even the most despondent person ecstatic, because their entire world revolves around this 'love', and nothing else could ever conceivably matter?

Is it possible that love doesn't even exist?

Or, maybe the select few people who have ever experienced it have never gone on to speak about it, because whatever they had could probably never be explained by the stringing together of some twenty-six alphabets. Maybe that's what love is. Unexplainable. Unreasonable. Untouchable.

Lately, I've been wondering a lot about what the word 'love' means.

* * *

"Molly."

I turned to be greeted by a flurry of honeyed peach hair, interspersed with glimpses of three glossy black bobby pins, making its way up the dusty path to my farm.

"Chase." I nodded in return.

Before I could react, a perfectly made piece of strawberry shortcake was plopped into my hands. It almost seemed to glint in its perfection.

"What's this?" I asked Chase dumbly, mouth slightly agape.

He smirked in amusement, but decided to humour my seemingly obvious question. "I made it for you, smart ass." Sarcasm dripped from his words.

"Why?"

Chase didn't waste a minute. "You kissed me."

Tension seemed to fill the air as he brought up the subject we'd failed to mention from three weeks before. The subject we'd simply glossed over, acting as if it'd never happened; for no voiced reasons.

He remained perfectly still, watching me closely for a flicker of remembrance.

"Yeah," I finally replied, making sure to keep my emotions from showing on my face.

"And then you brushed it off, like it never happened." He took a step towards me, peering into my face, like he was trying to read it. "Why?"

"I was told guys like to be left hanging," I semi-joked in retort, haphazardly constructing a wall to barricade Chase off from my thoughts.

He took a violent step back, eyebrows furrowed in clear dissatisfaction; he crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow to unnerve me. We both stared at each other in a battle of endurance – or stubbornness – trying to see who would crack first. Finally, Chase closed his violet eyes and let out a sigh.

"I don't like girls who play games."

My heart dropped, from shock; anger; guilt. Chase glared at me coolly, but not coldly. He gestured minimally towards the slice of cake I held in my hands, "And I don't like playing games either."

"I'm not just any girl," I answered by reflex. Instinct.

"I thought so too," he replied, arms still crossed, "but your little games seem to be proving me wrong."

My eyes narrowed in offense. "Don't lump me together with other girls."

"Why shouldn't I?" Chase took another step closer to me, "You say you're not like other girls but then you go and act just like them." His face was mere inches away from mine; his voice soft but steady. "If you ask me," his hot breath tickled my lips, "I think you're caught between who you are and who you want to be."

* * *

My whole life, I've been afraid of falling.

Of falling from somewhere I'd worked so hard to climb up to – the multi-faceted persona I'd managed to cultivate for myself; the philosophical outlook I'd managed to gain on life; the untouchable heart I'd hardened towards the world. Why would I let everything I'd worked so hard to achieve go so easily?

People are always trying to come into your life, with a simple, "Hi," or, "How are you?" Always trying to change you into who they want you to be. Why let someone change you when you've worked so hard to become the person you are? Just one sentence, and everything you've ever known about yourself could be altered. Shattered. Smithereens.

_If you ask me,_

I'm sitting perched on a magnificently high branch – on a great elm tree I've been climbing up for years. I'm watching as people go by, trying to climb their way up, to who they want to be. I laugh at them mockingly, haughty about how I've climbed my way up my tree so early; so effortlessly.

_I think you're caught between who you are_

But suddenly I lose my balance, and no matter how desperately far I stretch my arm out, I've lost my chance at gripping onto my branch. I'm abruptly hurled into the air, and I'm free falling for all that I'm worth; no sounds come out of my mouth because I'm too completely petrified about what I know is definitely coming – the ground. The starting point.

I clamp my eyes shut, bracing myself for my inevitable doom, and I curse all the gods I don't believe in for pulling me away from the place I'd worked all my life to reach. I'm falling and I'm falling and I'm falling and I'm so, so angry, but more importantly, I'm terrified.

But then I finally reach the ground, and I feel no pain. Surprised, I open my eyes to be met with crystalline violet ones.

_and who you want to be._

"Come on," Chase seems to say, as he stretches a hand out to me.

"Where're we going?" Is all I can murmur out.

He gestures his head towards an even higher, more resplendent tree. He smiles and looks straight on at me.

"To who you want to be."

I take hold of his hand, and he leads me to our destination.

* * *

The voice of the Chase currently in front of my farmhouse, in front of me, broke me out of my reverie. His eyes seemed to register what I'd been thinking, almost telepathically. He brought his lips next to my ear and whispered gently, "Don't play games with me anymore, okay?" Vulnerability and fear coated his words.

There's always that tough boy you know in elementary school, who never cries and is always known as the 'strong one.' He's the one who stands up for other children when they're getting picked on – he's the one who gets into fights because he was protecting that scrawny kid who never fit in. You admire him for that unbreakable strength; the impermeable wall he seems to have been born with.

But then one day, you're walking home and you catch sight of him; sitting alone on a park bench, head buried in his small, balled up hands. You wonder what he's doing in that position, when you suddenly notice the slight shaking of his shoulders and the swollen red patches on his face. For the first time ever, you've witnessed the unthinkable. His impervious wall has crashed down, and he's crying. And you don't know what the hell you're going to do, but in that moment, all you know is that he's crying, and it's in that moment that you realize it's okay – normal – to cry, and it doesn't matter that he's supposed to be strong, because right now, he's not strong. Right now, he's falling from who he is, but that's alright. Because that means he's going to who he wants to be.

It was in that moment that I realized Chase was falling too.

His fingers lightly caressed mine, just like they'd done the night we'd kissed. My heart constricted, and it was all I could do to nod.

His victorious, cheeky smirk graced his face once again. "Good," he replied. "Give me back the cake."

Completely confused, I didn't react to him taking the delicate strawberry dessert out of my hands and into his own. He positioned himself in front of me, and looked me straight in the eyes. His own violet eyes sucked me in.

"Here, Molly," Chase play acted, sticking the slice of cake out to me again, "I made this cake for you." His playful smirk never left his face, but his hand, which had gone to cup my cheek, overshadowed the formality of his gesture. He brought his face closer; lips almost grazing mine. "I made it for you," he repeated, finally answering my question from when he'd first gifted me the cake, "because I like you."

I couldn't help the smile that threatened to tug at my lips, or the pang of rapturous emotion I felt when he said, _"I like you," _so genuinely.

"Thank you," I replied, going along with this strange cordially intimate act. I let my face inch even closer to his, challenging him in a battle of will. A smirk grew on my face to match his.

And I finally let myself fall.

"I like you too."

Together, hand in hand, Chase takes me to who we want to be.

* * *

The stars gleamed in the night sky, quiet, as they watched the earth go by. We stood on the porch of my house, smoking; the ethereal smoke floating up to join the lonely stars. I turned to look at Chase, who effortlessly held his cigarette between the joints of his index and middle finger, his motions languid. Purposeful.

I don't believe in love. Lust? Sure. Attraction? Definitely. Those emotions are simple enough to understand. But love?

His strands of honeyed peach hair were whisked up gently by the wind. The moonlight reflected itself in each individual strand. His violet eyes gleamed amethyst in the dark night. Secrets that had been exposed. The strong slope of his nose led to his parted lips, which were gently curled around a cigarette. Its translucent smoke seemingly caressed his face. Walking its fingers up his strong jaw. Trailing its way across his eyelids. Lidded with the swirls of galaxies.

He turned to face me, fingers working quickly, dexterously, to retract both our cigarettes from our lips.

He pressed his lips to mine in a tender fashion, completely unlike the one we'd kissed in before. His hand went to hold the back of my head as I let myself fall, _fall_, into his kiss.

He tasted like nectar and salt. Nectar and salt and oranges. Pollen and stars and hinges. He tasted like fairy tales. Cream on the tip of a fox's tongue. He tasted like hope.

We broke apart, and he let his fingers brush across mine like he always did.

But this time, he let his fingers interlace through mine; holding my hand in his. And it made me feel like hope. Not have hope, but like hope, and I don't know if that made any sense, but that was how it made me feel.

No, I do not believe in love.

He smiled that smile specially reserved for me – the one where one corner of his lips tugged up more than the other, and only half his teeth showed, but his eyes gleamed in a way that _made me feel like hope_.

But god damn.

* * *

Took me twenty-one years to realize: things fall.

It's gravity.

And it's okay.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'Daughter of Smoke and Bone' by Laini Taylor or the poem 'who she is and who she wants to be' or the 'gravity' quote.**

**Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed Chase's latest instalment! I hope the changes from 'real time' to Molly's thoughts are clear. You'll notice that I used a few line breaks for this chapter, because I felt it was necessary. This chapter was supposed to show Molly's conflicted thoughts towards love and Chase and even herself. Also, ****Molly was playing games with Chase because she was afraid, in spite of her whole soliloquy on how she defeats fear in the previous chapter with Chase. Despite the way she seems so sure of herself, she's actually very contradictory and to some extent, hypocritical. But this chapter was meant to show them letting go and falling, together. ****Hope you enjoyed, I always appreciate reviews/follows/likes!**


	9. Destruction

"Morning."

"It is, isn't it?"

Confusion temporarily mangled the oxymoronically tenderly macho face of the blue-head, a feather light laugh eventually emitting itself in response.

"Morning," I finally conceded smilingly, as I observed how the canopy of trees that crosshatched Fugue Forest created the illusion of melancholy gloom. Tremors of drabness basked in the heavyweight air. "Not an awfully good morning though, is it?"

"You never really know, in here. Kind of transports you to an entirely different dimension."

"Probably the Dark Ages."

A smile flicked the corners of Luke's mouth upward; the dense forest air transformed his amber eyes imperial topaz. A blanket of syrupy humidity, thick enough to press against our skin, engulfed us.

"I heard that you're dating Chase."

"Where'd you hear that from?"

"Not much stays secret around here."

A lone bird chirruped, its discordant melody piercing through the veil of tension that hung around us.

"I wouldn't call it dating."

Hope sprung forth in his sharp topaz eyes. Doubt was its companion. I eyed him warily, buying myself time to dictate my choice of words.

"But it's not nothing."

"Oh." Dejection rang through his sole syllable.

More quiet came to rest on our shoulders, dragging them down with undetectable weight.

"You sound disappointed."

"I am."

"Why's that?"

Amber is capable of preserving the dead – of encasing long deceased ants and scorpions; leave them frozen for eternity. Amber's capable of holding together destruction that's waiting to happen.

Luke's eyes were topaz today.

"You know why."

My own amber eyes averted themselves, the knot in my throat reluctant to swallow itself away. "I suppose I do."

"I warned you not to, though," I offered, in some redundant form of consolation to Luke's – third, now, is it? – indirect confession of _love_.

"Couldn't help it," he retorted swiftly, toothy grin making its speedy reappearance on his face. I much preferred it to his dejected frown. "Doesn't mean I'm about to give up, though."

I rolled my eyes in annoyance, a fiery tirade building up on the tip of my tongue, "I'm not some kind of game for you to just pursue as you please. It's not a fucking woman's job to be a trophy for men to seek after, only to be consumed and invaded and spat out so that some man can evolve."

"I never said that that's how I see you."

"How do you see me, then?"

The distant churning of the gears that was the Garmon Mine District seemed to seep its way through the canopy of Fugue Forest, invading our misty silence with the harsh resonances of metal against metal, the subtle reverberations of hammer against mine floor.

"Beautiful."

I scoffed unabashedly; disgust curdling in my every synapse. "Beautiful?" I let the word burr out of my mouth, watching as it oozed to the ground. I glared at it, willing it to disintegrate. Turn to ashes.

Luke smiled, in spite of my revolted response. Amusement danced around his eyes in the form of fairies.

"You're beautiful, and you don't even know it."

I shrank further away, annoyance building up inside of me. "I'm not interested in hearing that," I finally spat out, scowl ready at my lips.

"You're beautiful," he repeated regardless, "but you're beautiful the way a forest fire's beautiful."

My eyes narrowed by instinct, fingers curling into themselves as my heart teetered perilously on an abyss. It dangled from a few lone arteries, threatening to snap at any moment. I sighed, willing my heart to continue dangling; to do anything but snap. "The fact of the matter is," I started, allowing my gaze to stray over to Luke, who was unconsciously carrying out his signature act of fidgeting with his blistered fingers, "you make me feel a lot more than you know."

"And how does Chase make you feel?"

"You don't need to know."

"How does Chase make you feel?" He repeated; persisted.

"Like myself."

His reticence left my words hanging in the air, coating us in my bared vulnerability. Sliding over our arms, slithering through gaps in the air.

"Like I can do anything. Like I can be anything I want to be."

"Look at you, getting all cliché."

I raised an irked eyebrow at him, leaving him to emit a laugh of carelessness; nervousness.

"And how do I make you feel?" He ventured precariously; broad, unevenly tanned shoulders bracing unintentionally for my answer.

"Like there's a precipice, and I'm falling."

His ears seemed to perk up, like when a dog hears its name being uttered. I went to quell any fires that might have been sparked in his naïve heart.

"And I don't mean that romantically," I rushed, hurriedly, bluntly. His ears fell – _down, boy, down. _"I meant that… If Chase represents creation, then you're destruction."

His eyes were topaz today.

"Destruction's also a form of creation," he smirked, utterly uncharacteristic of the usually overly jovial blue head. One edge of his lips curled upwards ever so maliciously – temptingly.

Luke wasn't letting me stand by and watch as he saved himself. He was trying to destroy me along with him.

"Sometimes the only way to rebuild yourself," he continued, topaz eyes glinting gravely, "is to destroy yourself first."

Topaz isn't capable of holding destruction together. Topaz just lets destruction fall.

His impaling words littered the atmosphere, stabbing into my chest as they dropped.

"You don't love me."

"Why do you say that?"

My eyes were still amber. "You don't destroy the person that you love."

Destruction has a way of sucking you in, swirling around you, and encasing you until you're gasping for air. My heart dangled from a quickly thinning artery, in grave danger of getting imbibed by the destruction that surrounded Luke.

"Hey," I finally began, backing a step away from the blue-headed time bomb in front of me, "You say you love me, right?" Emphasis on _say_.

He nodded noiselessly. My heart suspended from an emaciated vein.

"What do you think love means?"

"I really don't know," he chanted naïvely, ridged nail edges dragging unsettlingly across his rough palms. "I think it means, 'Don't leave me here alone.'"

Silence reared its ugly head. There was nothing left to be said.

"Hm."

"Do you love him?"

"Chase?"

"Who else?" He joked lightheartedly, the barest smile playing on his lips, gifting me with a sense of relief.

"No," I stated with certainty – although I wasn't sure who it was that I was trying to convince anymore. "I don't believe in love."

"Why not?"

"What good is it?"

Blue. The colour of his straggly hair seemed to be reflected in his lips, despondency tugging the edges towards gravity, in a battle of will. His façade against his inner turmoil. Amber against topaz.

"Not much," he replied, a tinge of optimism – amber – flickering in his voice, "But I suppose that's what it is." He made his precarious transition from amber to imperial topaz. "Knowing it'll destroy you, but wanting to be destroyed anyway."

"Hm."

Quiet hummed over us, dressing us in uncomfortable tension, taunting us with bitter apprehension. Quiet reigned when there was nothing left to be said.

I turned on my heels, eyes averted from the topaz mess that was on the precipice of crumbling. "See you," I mumbled out hurriedly, in a rush to remove myself from the vortex that was Luke.

"Will I?" A vulnerable voice trembled towards me, tugging on my arm, pleading with me to stay. For one more moment.

I stopped. "Will you what?"

"Will I see you again?"

"What kind of question is that?" _Go, go, go. One more second and you'll get eaten alive._

"Whenever we say goodbye, I'm always afraid it'll be the last time."

"You never know," I cautioned, by instinct, "It could be."

"Yeah," he murmured, pacing a few hesitant steps towards my turned back. Energy radiated from him. "That's what scares me."

_Don't look, don't look, don't look. If you look, you won't be able to turn away._

"You're a time bomb," he continued, imperial topaz eyes boring into my back, "and you could explode at any given moment."

"I think you're talking about yourself," I rebutted, foot poised to take another step – to run as fast as I could from the blue-head who would be my undoing.

"Molly," he called out, voice trembling, _on a precipice, _"Will I see you again?"

"Maybe," I finally responded unwillingly, straining out a choked joke in a last-ditch attempt to lighten the increasingly somber mood, "I'm a busy woman, after all."

Luke played along, his trademark genuine smile making its reappearance on his rugged face once again. "Oh?" He probed impishly, topaz – _topaz – _eyes glinting playfully, "What're you busy with?"

"I don't know," I replied, before proceeding to snipe the light mood dead, "Lately, I'm finding myself increasingly torn between wanting to self-destruct and wanting to self-create."

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'The L Word', Neil Gaiman's work, 'Blue Valentine', 'Donnie Darko' or 'The Heart of the Matter' by Callie Torres.**

**Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this latest instalment! Obviously, Molly is torn between the two sides of her nature – destruction and creation, represented by Luke and Chase respectively. I feel like Luke's character has completely altered from what I originally intended him to be, but that's alright (I think?) Also, I changed the summary of the story because I felt like the previous one wasn't enthralling enough. Please review/follow/like and let me know what you think!**


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